


Five Scenes from the Married Life of Joey Weir and Stéphane Lambiel

by azephirin



Series: Born a Girl [4]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Cohabitation, F/M, Marriage, Masturbation, Weddings, girl!Johnny Weir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-24
Updated: 2010-05-24
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:58:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/pseuds/azephirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Come with me: together we can take the long way home.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Scenes from the Married Life of Joey Weir and Stéphane Lambiel

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the verse I'm calling [Born a Girl](http://archiveofourown.org/series/3495) (with a nod to the [Manic Street Preachers song](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Manic_Street_Preachers:Born_A_Girl)), varying lengths of time after [Blind Items](http://archiveofourown.org/works/83780). Summary from "[The Long Way Home](http://www.alwaysontherun.net/norah.htm#f11)," by Norah Jones. Thanks to my flist for not summarily defriending me for writing this stuff, and to [](http://eustacia-vye28.livejournal.com/profile)[**eustacia_vye28**](http://eustacia-vye28.livejournal.com/) for an idea regarding the last section.

At breakfast, she went over to say hi—and Stéphane, of course, reached up and pulled her into his lap.

Joey sighed. _It’s nothing_, she told herself. _Nothing he wouldn’t do with Yu-Na, or Brian, or anybody else. Stéphane cuddles everybody; it’s pathological._

“Good morning,” Stéphane said, settling his head against her shoulder.

_ It doesn’t have to mean anything._

Joey shifted irritably, dislodging Stéphane. “Don’t. People will think we’re…” _Well, whatever we are._

Stéphane raised his eyebrows, dropped his arms. _Then get up and go eat your breakfast,_ was unspoken.

“You really don’t care, do you?” Joey said quietly.

“I would announce to the whole world, if you permitted.”

She sighed again, but this time she wrapped one arm around his shoulder and tentatively laid her other hand over his. This wasn’t going to be resolved today: _Relationships don’t look good, especially at your age; the fans like Stéphane better if they think he’s single._ But this was just one time, Joey decided. Just one time, and they were eating breakfast in Korea. Who would care?

“Hello,” she heard Stéphane say, and there was somebody with a camera. Of course. Of course.

It wasn’t even a professional shot. It made the rounds anyway.

Stéphane—usually as comfortable in front of a camera as in his own bedroom—looks nervous. Joey’s half smiling, unreadable. Stéphane’s sister wants to use it in the montage she’s putting together for the rehearsal dinner.

“No way,” Joey says.

+||+||+

  
Stéphane’s already asleep when Joey comes to bed. One thing they’d had time to learn during his short New Jersey sojourn in 2008: Stéphane is early-to-bed-and-early-to-rise, while Joey is later to bed and if-you-make-me-rise-before-I-want-to-I-will-kill-you-and-sow-your-fields-with-salt-and-curse-your-descendants-to-the-seventh-generation.

She could wake him up, but he’s had a long day, and the weekend’s just around the corner and then she can spend a few hours doing various dirty things to, with, near, and around Stéphane’s person. This is really just an itch to scratch before she goes to sleep.

Joey gets comfortable, then pushes her underwear down.

She knows what she likes, and she doesn’t draw it out—she doesn’t rush, though, because Stéphane sleeps pretty soundly and she shouldn’t have to worry about disturbing him as long as she stays quiet.

Turns out _shouldn’t_ is the operative word there, because she’s curling her toes and biting her lip, circling her clit with one light fingertip, and Stéphane says, sounding way more alert than he should, “Joey?”

“Um,” she says.

In the dark, his eyes are shining. “You could have woken me.”

“You”—it’s a little hard to talk right now—“need your rest.”

“Yes,” Stéphane agrees, then adds, “and you have needs as well,” because he is a perv. She hears him move, and she can make out the shape of him facing her—he’s turned over, presumably to watch. “I will not disturb you.”

“Either join in or go back to sleep,” she retorts, a little out of breath. Only a little. “No observers. This isn’t the goddamn UN.”

He kicks his briefs off, then switches the bedside lamp on low. He wraps a hand around his cock, and he’s grinning.

Joey cranes her neck to kiss him. “What were you dreaming about?” she whispers.

Stéphane licks his lips, and she knows he’ll tell her something good.

+||+||+

  
“Everyone is having a good time,” Stéphane murmurs. “No one will notice.”

“It’s our wedding reception!” Joey says. “Everyone will notice!”

“No one has noticed yet,” Stéphane points out.

It’s true: They’ve been standing out of sight behind this column for several minutes, and the party has gone on happily without them.

“Besides,” Stéphane continues, “we are not going far. Just upstairs. We can return quickly.”

Joey gives him the best fish-eye possible. “I get that tux off you,” she says, “and we’re not going anywhere, especially not quickly.”

“Then you will simply have to exhibit some self-control.”

She elbows him, because sometimes that’s simply the only rational response.

The woman at the desk doesn’t laugh outright when the man in the tuxedo and the woman in the slinky green dress (which, OK, doesn’t look like the usual frothy wedding horror, but the hotel has a couple ballrooms set aside for “Weir/Lambiel wedding,” and here are Weir and Lambiel) ask for the keycards to their suite, but she does kind of smirk.

“She was totally on to us,” Joey says mournfully on the elevator, resting her head on Stéphane’s shoulder.

“It is a hotel,” he says philosophically. “I’m sure they have seen much worse than a newly married couple wishing for some time alone.”

Joey makes a face, but then an idea occurs to her. “You could be my rentboy!”

Stéphane looks down at what he’s wearing. “I do not think I am dressed for the part.”

“Oh, no, baby,” she assures him. “You’re a high-class rentboy.”

“And yet somehow I think you have just insulted me.”

Joey pushes him against the elevator’s wall. “No way,” she says, rubbing their noses together. “I like you so much, I’m keeping you forever. You’re never going home with anybody else after this.”

Stéphane kisses her bare shoulder. “On that point we are agreed.”

The suite is probably pretty nice. Joey wouldn’t know, because as soon as they’re inside it, Stéphane is pulling her into the bedroom and onto one of the beds. She lands on top of him, legs on either side of his hips, and her hands pin his above his head. Stéphane tastes like the champagne they’ve been drinking, and, God, she remembers why she hates dresses so much—she can feel him getting hard through both sets of clothes, and if she were in pants she’d be able to snake a leg between his so that they could rock together like they both way to—

The phone rings.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Joey says, breathless, dropping her face into the curve of Stéphane’s neck.

He answers it, because clearly Joey has married an insane person. Well, she knew that already. _“Allo…Salut, Meryl…Rien…Rien se passe…Nous étions…fatigués.”_ Stéphane actually giggles, and Joey can’t help laughing along with it, because the sad part is that she'd not even surprised anymore that Stéphane giggles. “I am telling you, yes, _très fatigués_! Yes, yes, we will be down in a moment…Of course I will not tell you that!”

“MYOB!” Joey calls.

Even from a few feet away, Joey can hear Meryl snickering and singing fake porn music before she hangs up.

“We’re going to be hearing about this for the rest of our lives,” Joey informs Stéphane. “And it’s all your fault.”

+||+||+

  
“It’s small,” Joey says. It’s the smallest place she’s ever lived, even when she was living by herself.

“But it is not so bad for New York,” Stéphane says. “And the neighborhood is nice.” Joey can’t argue with that: It’s a bucolic part of Brooklyn, near Prospect Park, a short commute to NYU for Joey and to Midtown for Stéphane’s acting school.

“And the walls are bare,” Joey says.

She hears Stéphane huff out a quiet laugh as he gathers her up against him. It’s a game they’ve played as long as they’ve known each other: For every horrible that Joey throws out, Stéphane always has something to counteract it. “We will decorate them tomorrow.”

“I’m terrible at decorating.”

“Your mother packed a box of wall things into the truck.”

“Of course she did,” Joey says, because that’s just the kind of thing that Patti would do.

“And there is a market, in the plaza near your school—”

“Union Square.”

“Yes. There is a market there, remember? And sometimes there are artists at the market. And besides, we will need groceries, so we should go to the market anyway.”

“A lot of those artists are terrible.”

“Some are not. And if they are all terrible, we can go to the galleries. I have wanted to go to the galleries for so long, but we have never had time when we visited.”

“We’re both in school,” Joey reminds him gently. When it’s something real—when it’s outside of their _good news, bad news_ game—she tries to be gentle. “We can’t spend money at galleries.”

“That is true,” Stéphane agrees, as though he’d been expecting the objection. “But we can still look. For when we are both out of school and very wealthy.”

“Then I’ll buy you a Van Gogh,” Joey says.

“I would prefer a Monet,” Stéphane replies, deadpan.

“OK,” Joey says. “A Monet, then. One with waterlilies.”

+||+||+

  
In the days before the shoot, Joey goes back and forth on whether she wants Stéphane there. It’s a lesbian magazine and, she knows, a lesbian photographer and art director; if you’re going to show your junk in the mass media, this seems like a pretty friendly way to do it. Still, it might be good to have somebody there who’s squarely on her side, not the magazine’s. Joey and Tara are close, but…no; Tanith would be fine with it—God knows she and Joey have seen each other naked enough times—but she’s going to be out of the country doing an exhibition.

Joey had Tara ask, and the magazine doesn’t have a problem with Stéphane being there, but Joey thinks it might be awkward anyway. Joey wonders how actors and actresses deal with this when they’re filming sex scenes; maybe they just don’t have their partners on the set? But there are people in movies who are married to other people in movies, actors and producers and directors and whatever, so they must work together sometimes—weren’t Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman both in that really terrible movie back before they divorced and he got all crazy and somehow talked Katie Holmes into marrying him? That might be even weirder, like doing a porno with your husband or wife that the whole world is going to watch. Yuck.

In the end, she decides she wants Stéphane there.

At first, he watches everything with narrowed eyes, as though waiting for someone to say something offensive or do something inappropriate. Once Joey gets comfortable, though, it’s sort of like being in a dressing room with Tanith and Meryl and Tessa and Yu-Na and Carolina and the rest of them, the people she likes. It’s the kind of thing that might be skeezy if the photographer and her assistants were dudes, but for some reason it’s OK like this. A little while goes by, and when Joey looks over at Stéphane, he’s engrossed in reading _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ for the forty-seventh time.

She laughs and flops back onto the bed that’s part of the set, and she’s still smiling when the flash lights up the insides of her eyelids.

**Author's Note:**

> I post with the uncomfortable awareness that the events described in this story resonate a good bit differently with a genderswapped Johnny (and hence a heterosexual pairing) rather than with the original version (and hence a M/M pairing). Though I created the character of Joey Weir as a way of exploring gender roles and expectations (see the note at the end of [All Four Bodies of the Sky Burn Above Us](http://archiveofourown.org/works/74503#work_endnotes)), much of what I've actually posted in this 'verse is fluff, and the aforegoing story isn't much different. I hope that this fic doesn't come across as an exercise in "I'll make them straight so that they can get married!"; that wasn't my intent, but I can understand how the objection might arise.


End file.
